The Clock Keeper's Husband
by Silence In Winter
Summary: With a life as bitter as winter, Elsa holds tight to the things Jack has left for her. The story of a ballerina blinded by the desperate love of a street urchin during the collapse of the last Russian dynasty. [Historical AU, Jelsa main, slight Helsa, lemonish]
1. Listen

**A/N: I need to stop doing this. I seriously do. This was intended to be a oneshot... but will be a touch longer. Think short story. Yeah... Anyway, I hope you enjoy, this is an idea that I have been really excited for since summer.**

 ****TRIGGER WARNING** This story contains mentions of abuse, rape, and other abusive activities. Some readers may be sensitive to this subject material.**

* * *

The Clock Keeper's Husband

Part 1

She was the town whore. Her belly was as ripe and taut as a spring melon but the only man to speak of was whomever owned the threadbare cloak thrown over the lonely chair at her table. The pity of her neighbors was the only bounty of the village, _babushkas_ leaving baskets of fresh bread and figs on her doorstep every other day. Mothers would stop her in the street to offer advice, for surely a woman as loose as she knew nothing of raising a baby. Men who had once tipped their hats now gave her the same reprise as a lame horse. No young sir wanted to be straddled with the accusation of a bastard child whether or not it was his own.

However, her smile was never dull. With a delicate hand she penned thank you notes to the _babushkas_ , smiled and genuinely thanked the mothers in the street, and never looked twice at the men who shunned her. It had become her routine to accept the supposed kindness with grace even though she knew better.

Every night when she left the sweat shop, she would wrap her shawl tightly around her body to keep out the cold as she walked the cobbled village streets. Children bartered small Soya candies for marbles and jacks that they bounced off of the ice patches that filled the potholes in the ruddy streets, hollering to move when a horse and carriage approached.

When she came to her home, she would unlock the door with her brass key, bringing with her whatever goodies had been left on her stoop. She would put them in the cupboard but not before breaking the crust of the bread or a taking a slice of a fig and putting it on the rim of the Germanic clock above her stove because she always had priorities.

Then, she would light the stove fire and put water on for tea. While it was boiling she would slice herself a piece of bread and slather it healthfully in butter. By the time the kettle whistled, she would have already eaten her bread, so she would pour her tea and sit at the table to wait for the turn of the hour.

* * *

The drums in the orchestra pit pounded so loud Elsa couldn't hear the blood rushing in her ears. One of Hans' hands was wrapped around her pale pink pointe shoe, the other gripping her inner thigh beneath her skirt as he held her above his head. She could feel his breath on her ankle, traveling up to the back of her knee as his eyes traveled farther up her skirt. The velvet curtain fell and the drums ceased. The hot stage lights were shut off as those in the lobby of the theater were turned on.

Hans slowly lowered Elsa, allowing the chiffon of her long tutu to fall over his face. When her feet touched the ground, he held her hips a moment more so that his sweaty thigh could brush against hers, the thin nylon of their stockings the only barrier between them.

"For a plain girl, you really are—"

"Excuse me," Elsa said, lowering her as she separated herself from Hans.

"I'll find you later," He called after her but Elsa was weaving through extras and crew members as she tried to make her way to her dressing room. She could see the little white door with her name on it when suddenly three men carrying a ladder smacked into her back.

"Ouch!" She fell to her knees, the white-gold tiara tumbling from her powdered hair. She reached for it but the whispering foot of another dancer kicked it out of reach.

"Elsa—" Hans was behind her, calling for her. Pretending not to hear him, Elsa pulled herself to her feet and stumbled to her dressing room, wrenching the door open and slamming it shut behind her with finality.

Thirteen minutes without expectations. Thirteen minutes of freedom. Thirteen minutes without Hans.

She took a breath, grateful that she wasn't sharing the air with closer to a hundred other individuals.

Not much bigger than a walk-in closet, the room had a scarred wooden vanity with her cosmetics haphazardly jumbled on its surface. A crushed velvet seat was scooted underneath. On the far wall beneath the small window was a bare wooden pallet, her dirty clothes piled on top. Behind the door was a portable wrack made from pipe scraps that held her various costumes. For this show there were exactly three, but the intermission did not require a costume change this time so she could call this room her sanctuary.

For eleven more minutes. Elsa pulled the seat out and was about to sit when she heard a frantic wrapping on the window. When she looked up, she saw a wisp of a man with brown eyes as warm as summer, pounding on the window.

Elsa ran across the room and flung open the window. "What are you—"

"Please!" He grabbed her hand through the opening. It was calloused and warm. "You need to let me in." The way he rolled his R's was incorrect, giving him a funny accent. He wasn't Russian.

"What? Why?" Elsa tried to pull her hand back through the window but he held onto it tenderly.

"Because they're chasing me."

Her face went pale. "The police?"

He nodded. "I stole bread." A high crime when flour rations were at their peak.

Elsa glanced at the clock on her vanity, an empty Soya candy wrapper beside it. Ten minutes to go.

"Get in." Pulling his hand. She helped hoist him in. He really was as thin as a thimble.

Tufts of snow from the street tumbled through the window and onto the pallet with him. The breeches he wore were too short and his shirt was stained with coal. The cloak around his shoulders was a rough burlap and he had no shoes.

She stared. And so did he.

"Um..."

"Thanks!" He extended his hand to her. "I'm Jack, Jackson Overland."

Slowly, she extended her hand to him, but instead of kissing it he shook it with vigor. "Thanks for your help, uh?"

"Elsa, I'm Elsa."

"A lovely name for a lovely girl."

His words reminded her of Hans and his hands wrapped around her foot; touching her thigh. The smile on her face disappeared. "Please don't flirt with me."

"Why?" Jack sat on the pallet, pulled out not one but two loaves of bread from under his cloak. "Are you married?" They still smelled sweet and yeasty. The crusts looked thick and delicious. But this was food she could not eat.

"Hardly. But I have other obligations."

Jack put the bread away and shrugged. "Figures. You might be missing a crown, but you look like a princess to me." He gestured to her costume, a gorgeous ensemble of white silk and chiffon with semi-precious diamonds sewn into the bodice in the pattern of snowflakes.

"It's just the dress." Elsa said, her hands falling politely to her sides. "I'm pretty plain."

Jack laughed rudely. "Who ever told you that?"

Wincing, Elsa said, "A-Aren't you going to eat that bread?"

He shook his head. "Nope."

"Why not? Isn't that why the police were chasing you?"

"Sure is. But this is for my sister. She has a big audition tomorrow and I want her to have enough to eat tonight and a good breakfast tomorrow morning."

"Audition? For what?"

Jack grinned, his eyes on Elsa but she was not the one he was seeing. "She wants to be like you. A dancer."

Elsa blinked. "But aren't you, uh... American?"

Jack nodded. "Yeah, but she isn't like me. She doesn't have the accent, she could pretend. And she's good. Like, really good."

"You'd let her join a dance company? How old is she?"

"Old enough." He said carefully. "Besides, if she joins a company," Jack's eyes fell to the floor, so he could pause and feel the gravity of his own words. When he looked up at Elsa again his mouth was smiling but not his eyes. "They will be able to feed her."

"And what about you?"

"Why are you so worried about me, Ellen?"

"Elsa."

"Okay, Elsa, why are you so worried about me?"

There was a knock at the door. "Elsa, are you in there?" Han sounded concerned, but Elsa knew his worry was not for her, but his own agenda. He jiggled the knob but it didn't open. "We have to go back on."

"Uh, just a minute!" She began opening drawers on her vanity frantically, rummaging through lipsticks, pressed powders, and clean white panties until she found the small tin hidden in the back of the last drawer.

"Elsa?"

"Hans!" She snapped. "Give me a minute!"

"But I found your crown—"

She shoved the tin into Jack's hands. "Here," she whispered, then turned and left. Jack sat for a moment, his back against the stone wall as he watched the door. Cold crept from the thin glass panes and tickled the back of his neck, but he was feeling rather warm anyway.

Pulling his feet underneath him, he removed the lid of the tin to find it was filled to the brim with Soya candies and milk chocolate bars wrapped in colorful paper.

* * *

Her arms were full of prickly white roses. Elsa dodged the mass of cast members, Hans included, the latter who tracked like a hunting dog. He tried to call for her but she disappeared amongst the other dancers as quickly as possible. She wanted the place where he could not ask her to stand beside him, where he could not put his hands up her skirt and call it necessary for the performance. This was the once place that had a lock and he had no key.

But there was that Jack guy. Would he still be there?

No, likely not. Elsa thought he would eat the entirety of her sweet tin and leave the wrappers everywhere, the window open to let all of winter into her dressing room.

But the only part she was right about was the wrappers. As soon as she stepped into her dressing room her foot crinkled a wax Soya wrapper. He was laid out on the pallet, her dirty clothes balled up underneath his head as a pillow. He was fingering one of her silk headbands, rubbing the beaded rose brocade.

"This is, like, probably worth more money than I have ever had in my entire life. No joke."

"Jack," She said, coming to the side of the pallet. "Why are you still here?"

He shrugged innocently. "It's warm in here. And I liked the candy?"

Elsa sighed, turning away.

"Or did you want me to say that I wanted to see you again?" Jack sat up. She looked over her shoulder at him. His head was cocked like a puppy. "Because that's true too."

There was a knock at the door again and before Elsa could answer, whoever it was tried the knob. "Elsa?" It was Hans, always Hans. She was thankful she had locked it. Elsa closed her eyes.

"Go away, please. I'm changing."

There was a brief pause. Elsa didn't breathe. "I'd like to come in, then." He said.

Jack looked away, then back at Elsa. His eyes observing her without judgment.

She at the bare stone wall instead of Jack. "No, Hans, not tonight."

"Elsa—"

"Leave me be!"

On the other side of the door Hans didn't say anything. All three of them were silent, two holding their breath until the sound of the thirds' footsteps walking away could be heard. Elsa let out all of the air she had been holding, allowing herself to slump.

"He keeps a pretty tight leash on you, eh?"

Elsa turned to find Jack within inches of her. "Excuse me," she stepped away. "But does it matter? I mean, is it any of your business?"

"I mean, no." Jack admitted. "Probably not. But I know that I would hate to see my sister with someone like that."

Elsa wrung the fingers of her left hand with the right, feeling her knuckles pop painfully. "We're not together."

"Then someone's taking more than his fair share."

Elsa sat down, her romantic tutu falling elegantly over the stool. "I... I don't know what to say to that."

"You gave me kindness, I thought I'd return the favor. Should I go?"

"Ha! How is that a kindness, Jack?"

"Because it's honest." Jack popped open the window. A breeze caught a tuft of fresh snow, blowing the flakes in to bite Elsa's cheek. The makeup she had applied before the show was faded and slightly smudged, there were flecks of her mascara on her rosy cheeks. When she brushed the cold snow away it came with pink and black streaks.

"It really kind of hurts."

Jack nodded, slowly closing the window. "Sometimes the truth does that, you know."

Elsa wrapped her arms around herself, rubbing her bare elbows to the bite of the wind. She wasn't quite sure how he could stand to have bare feet in this weather. And then she remembered shoes were likely a luxury he could only afford for his sister

"It does." She acknowledged.

"Well," Jack said, standing on the pallet. "I should probably be going."

"Okay, goodbye."

His shoulders slouched. "Aw, you're letting me go that easy?"

Elsa stared at him, not quite sure what he was expecting. She nodded.

"At least let me say thank you."

"Okay, then say thank you."

"No, close your eyes."

"Close me—that's ridiculous."

"Just do it. Please?"

Before she closed her eyes, she rolled them, then folded one leg over the other with her hands neatly in her lap, just as a lady should. She was expecting a crumb of his bread, a page from his Bible, or a rusted bolt he had found in the coal yard that he deemed lucky. Ultimately something partially manly but an item a man could misconstrue as sweet and touching.

Elsa was given none of these, for when she closed her eyes, Jack took her face in his hands and kissed her.

His lips were painfully chapped from the cold but this kiss itself was as tender and sweet as warm milk with honey. She opened her lips slightly to say his name but he took the words from her, nibbling the soft folds of her lips so she would taste him and forget. When she moved slowly, so did he, responding to her desire and asking only for her to do the same. Heat radiated down her neck, shooting down the soft curve of her back and settling as warmth between her legs.

Hans had never kissed her like this. It was always hard and selfish, his tongue against her closed teeth. Hans.

Elsa broke the kiss, turning away. "Jack..." Her face burned, shame and desire bleeding into one another.

He pressed his lips to her hot forehead. "Yes?"

"That... that felt..."

Jack tangled his fingers in her hair, pulling her in for a second kiss. She gasped against his lips and this time Jack took the opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth, and she obliged, letting him have what he wanted not because of his violence but because of his gentle desire.

She put her arms around his neck, pulling their bodies together. Jack's hands were on her waist, fidgeting the sharp points of the diamonds on her costume. He wanted to feel her naked hips, her skin that smelled of roses and French lavender.

Breaking the kiss, Jack ran his thumb across her wet lips. "I bet no one has ever listened to your body like that, mnn?"

She took the tip of his thumb lightly between her teeth, her cheeks hot. When he moaned softly she quivered but not from the cold. He kissed her eyes closed.

"Jack, I can't—"

"Shhh," Jack's fingers ghosted up her calf, over her knee. "Just listen." His lips kissed the soft place under her ear so she would sigh, lay her head on his shoulder. "Listen to what your body is saying."

For so many years Elsa had used her body as an expression of art. Everything she did reflected her desire to dance; what she ate, the company she kept, the world she lived in. During the day she drilled herself with rigorous recitals and exercises to hone her muscles and mentality for the evenings when she wore a gown of diamonds and pretended to be what she was not; a princess in a Hans Christian Anderson fairy tale. Elsa was confidant that she had a handle on the capabilities and limitations of her body.

But this fire Jack was pulling out of her was new. It felt strong and sudden and made her heart jump to her throat. Her toes wanted to curl but the hard wood of the point shoes kept them at a precise angle.

"M-My shoes—"

He took her left foot in his hand. His slender fingers wrapped entirely around the tiny shoe. "You want them off?" Elsa nodded, leaning against her vanity. Jack hooked his hands under her buttocks and lifted her onto the counter of it, knocking pressed powders and imported hand lotions to the floor. His hands traveled down her right leg as he kneeled, part of him touching her at all times. He untied the laces around her ankles quick as a sailor and tossed the one shoe over his shoulder going for the next one.

When they were off, he stood again, running his hand along Elsa's inner thigh. When he looked up at her, that pale face was the color of roses, her lips parted just enough that he could hear her soft isps of anticipation. Who was he to keep a lady waiting?

* * *

Elsa shut the window behind Jack and secured the latch. The hour would turn to midnight in a few minutes and she had to make it to her apartment. Elsa predicted she would likely be the only one left in the theater, perhaps a janitor or three. She picked her costume up off the floor where Jack had tossed it, found its hanger in the rubble, and returned it to the rack, a smile equal parts whimsy and embarrassment on her lips. Usually she was more careful with company property.

Turning around, her eyes fell on the mess of her vanity that they had made. Frowning, she began picking up the cosmetics and putting them back in their proper place but quickly found she was too tired to care. Opening the top drawer, she shoved whatever was left on the floor in. noticing one or two of the cases were cracked and the powder within unevenly distributed. A tragedy she would have to save for tomorrow.

Elsa shrugged on her coat and scarf, left her dressing room, and closed the door behind her. The lights in the auditorium were dim but not out, signaling that she was indeed not the only occupant of the building. It wasn't particularly unusual for the janitors to still be here. Shrugging, she ran her hands across the surface of her hair. The knots Jack's fingers had made were still there, held in place by the remnants of the hair spray and talc that had been applied before the show this evening.

She was almost to the foyer when someone slammed into her, pushing her against the wall without mercy.

Elsa cried out but her voice was quickly nuffed by a gloved hand.

"Bitch," Hans sneered. He let go of her mouth, wrapping both hands around her throat. Elsa clawed at him but he didn't relent. "You don't shut me out. Ever!"

Elsa couldn't even sputter. She was helpless, losing air and her hope with it. And then he let go, allowing her to crash to the floor, hacking and sputtering as she filled her lungs again.

"You are nothing without me. Don't you dare treat me that way again." Then he left.

* * *

"What's this?" Jack turned the two rectangular slips of paper over in his hand. The words were written in Russian, which he couldn't read.

"Well," Elsa said. "You've been in the theater more times than I can count but never been to a show, so I thought you might want to bring your sister to the ballet tomorrow night."

Jack's eyes widened. "Elsa, you didn't have to—"

"No, but I wanted to!" She put her hands over his. "I want her to see what it's like to dance in front of an audience. And I want—" She blushed, looking at the flickering candle beside them. "I want you to see me when I dance."

Jack looked at the tickets, smiling, then back to Elsa. "Oh, I know how to make you dance."

"Jack!" Playfully, Elsa rolled over, the blanket sliding off of her shoulders so he could see her naked top. "Not like that! It'll be fun. I promise."

He didn't say anything at first, only looked at her, smiling. The shadows of the candle defined his chest, hiding the fact that he was ungodly skinny and at times downright uncomfortable to snuggle with. But she knew he could always make her melt by kissing the place under her ear.

"We've been doing this for two months and the only part of this theater you've seen is my dressing room."

"Well," Jack said. "I've gotten to explore the inner workings of a ballerina, if you get what I mean." He winked at her.

"Jack..."

"Okay, okay, okay, I'm sorry. But hey, I want to see you dance, I think it will be fun." There was something amiss. His smile was incomplete.

"I got you the tickets the night the Tsar and Tsarina will be there, so you can see them. I thought Emma would like that."

"She will." Jack nodded. "But if I'm coming to your dance, I want you to come and see, well, part of my life."

She lowered herself back onto his chest, catching him with a deep kiss. "I would love to, Jack." Smiling, he wrapped his arms around her and flipped her underneath him again.

* * *

 **A/N: Time period jumps around but later scenes take place in Russia at the dawn of the Soviet Union. A babushka is a grandmother and Soya candies were available in copious amounts during food shortages in Russia. They're little peanut candies with a TON of calories. It's a little eclectic but I had fun writing it and there is more to come. :3 -Kay**


	2. Visitor

**A/N: Some things that are important... Although the Russian Revolution has many different facets that are impossible to summarize in a single sentence, a basic understanding is that the White Army did not want Russia to fall into socialism and therefore fought against the Red Army, or the Bolsheviks as they are more commonly known.**

The Clock keeper's Husband

They didn't talk about the rules but everyone in the village knew them. Close the windows and pretend you are not home, unless they knock. Then open the door. It doesn't matter if the badges on their shoulders are White or Red, let them in and put on the tea, cut the bread, and stoke the hearth. Open your home as though they are your uncle's children and when they go, give them the last of your hard cheese and dried apples.

Even in all of her isolation, she knew. When word of the nearby skirmishes passed from the shepherds to the shopkeepers to the gossiping tongue of townsfolk, she would buy an extra loaf of bread or another chord of wood.

However, when the thunder of cavalry finally did run through the town it was never her door they called, almost as if a supernatural force guided their attention elsewhere. Yet, the bitterness of those who suffered under the thumb of both regimes cruelly assumed the child in her belly to belong to one of these men; one of the men who stole the scraps of food from the plates of their children in the name of the crown. Or the countryman, if the Red Army happened to call that week.

But the day there was a knock at her door there had been no horses, no army, and no men, only a young woman riding on a rather sorry looking gray ass whose gait was horribly imbalanced.

When the door opened, she threw herself into the arms of the young woman, wrapping her in a tight hug as she sobbed into her soft brown curls.

* * *

"I'm going to miss rehearsal today." The words came so fast they ran into each other as she wrung her hands behind her back. Elsa wouldn't look at them, especially not Hans, whose eyes she could feel sizing up her curves, sniffing for lies.

"Care to share with us the reason why you won't be joining us this evening, Elsa?" Hans said. She had approached the round table of the male cast, who were seated amongst various props backstage. The air was sour with the smell of vodka, pickles, and stories of unsavory one night stands.

She opened her mouth, ready to choose one of the many excuses she had thought of but a male support clapped Hans on the shoulder. "You aren't jealous are you?"

"Jealous? Of what, Eugene?"

"She's obviously running off to visit a man. Makes you wish you'd put your bid in when you had the chance, eh Hans?" Eugene slapped his knee with a laugh. "Ah, jealousy is a cruel bitch."

"Mmm," Hans moved his eyes to Elsa, who still wouldn't look at him. "I would be very concerned if you were going to see a man, Elsa. You really don't have the _time_ for someone new. It would mean risking your apartment, your career, your friends, basically your entire life. I would hope you wouldn't throw everything away so easily."

His carefully chosen words made her throat tight and she jammed the nail of her index finger into her thumb to keep from balling her fist. Raising her head, she smiled sweetly at Hans. "I appreciate your concern, Hans. I'm just going to one of those peace meetings the White Guard is is having."

"Wait," Eugene said. "You're a nationalist? For those swanky upper class types?"

Elsa shrugged softly. "I have my own opinion, Eugene. I happen to think a revolution amongst the people would cost more in lives than it would return in social gain."

"A woman with opinions is a rather dangerous thing, Elsa." Hans said. "I'm worried about you. I would be very careful at your meeting tonight." He placed an unnecessary weight on the word 'meeting,' then poured himself another shot glass of vodka and downed it.

* * *

The snow was stale and crunchy beneath her patent boots and the puffs of her breath evaporated in the cold wind. Jack had told her to walk on the track rails, but she was haunted by the tales from her childhood of men sucked under trains and had decided it was better to trudge through the snow beside the tracks.

Whenever she would look over her shoulder she could see the the lights of Moscow winking, reminding her of warm fires, toasty ovens, and hot mulled wine. It wasn't far, Jack had said, but what was far to an American who now lived half a world away from his place of birth? She was starting to worry if she was going in the right direction when she peaked the last hill and there, a stones throw from the track, was a pond frozen as solid as stone. This was it. With a sigh of relief, she made her way carefully to its shore. She was alone and there was no sign of Jack.

The mild panic returned, making her heart jump a pace. What if this wasn't the right place? What if he was waiting somewhere else? Or what if she had been a fool and he had found some other poor Russian mink to entertain him?

"Well, look what we have here." She turned around and right behind her was Jack, sitting atop a bay mare whose back was deeply swayed. Her coat was long and shabby from the cold and burned into her flank was the insignia of the Russian Railroad Company. Jack used no saddle but thrown over her stooped neck were two pairs of skates that had seen better days.

Elsa smiled. "I think this is the first time I've seen you wear shoes."

Grinning, Jack swung off the horse who whickered with relief. His clothes were coal-stained again and he even had smudges on his face and hands. "I think this is the first time I've seen you wear normal clothes. You're either in your ensemble or nothing at all."

"Jack!" Elsa blushed. "That's not appropriate to say to a lady!"

"What?" He said innocently. "You look stunning in anything, but I I do think the latter is my favorite."

"Jack..."

"Okay, okay, here." From the mare's neck he took the smaller skates and handed them to Elsa. The laces were browned and the shoes themselves frayed. Jack's looked even worse with the blade coming out of the sole of his right skate. "Put this on."

"I... I've never skated before though."

"You're Russian and you never skated. " He clicked his tongue as he shook his head. "It's a lot like dancing, I guess.."

"And how would you know that?"

"Well, I mean, you need balance, grace, all that stuff."

"All that stuff, eh?"

"Yeah, that's what you need for dancing. Here," Jack came to her side. "Lean against the horse, I'll help you." Elsa did as she was told and Jack helped her into her skates. For not knowing her shoe size, he had done a decent job finding her a pair of skates that fit, even if their origin was severely questionable.

Once her skates were on, he took her mittened hands with his bare ones, guiding her gently to the ice. When both of her feet were on the ice, they began to slide a few inches. She gasped.

"Jack—" Releasing his hands she grabbed his upper arms tightly, throwing all of her body weight into him so they were rapidly propelled backwards by Elsa's momentum.

"Woah! Elsa, it's okay." He put his hands on her shoulders, gently easing her back up to try and evenly distribute their combined weight. "I've got you, just relax. Take a breath."

She sucked in cold air through clenched teeth, feeling the burn deep in her lungs.

"Uh, not like that. Here, let's try this." Jack pulled himself up a little straighter so he could control their trajectory. He turned his head to look over his shoulder, then doug his skates into the ice to find purchase and pushed off, pulling Elsa smoothly behind him as they glided across the lake.

"Jack—Jack—I feel like I'm going to be out of control."

"Good thing I'm not asking you to let go." He leaned to the right, causing his skates to carve a sharp turn and taking Elsa with him, following the shore of the pond. The cadence of Elsa's breath had quieted and her hard grasp on his arms had lessened.

"Dare I say you're starting to have a little fun?"

Elsa smiled. "There might be a smidge of truth in that statement."

A train surged by on the tracks, its whistle cracking the silence of the January night. The ground—or really the pond—was shaking beneath their skates as the massive engine and its cars clapped across the metal rails but feet away. Elsa flung herself at Jack, wrapping her arms around whatever part of his body she could. His skates fumbled against the ice, trying to find purchase between the rumble of the train and Elsa's desperation. His feet slid out from underneath them and the pair tumbled onto the ice, Elsa under neath with Jack supporting himself by his hands, his face less than two inches from hers as they listened to the clap of the train's wheels against the track.

The final cars chased by the caboose chuffed past, the train turning at the railroad switch to head towards the mountain pass that would lead to Yekaterinburg.

Alone again, Jack leaned in and touched the tip of his nose to hers, nuzzling it sweetly.

"Your nose is cold." He observed.

"So warm it up."

Obligingly, he kissed the tip of her nose, causing her to giggle. "Here," She removed one of her fur mittens and began wiping the soot from Jack's cheek with it.

* * *

"You're hurting me!" Emma whined.

"Well, you keep trying to run away." Jack replied shortly, trying to navigate the massive pulse of people while maintaining his grip on his sister's small hand. The smell of sweat and perfume was so thick in the dry winter air it made Jack a little nauseated. In the crowd, it was easy to tell those who would actually attend the ballet from the ones just here to catch a glimpse of the Tsar and his family. Feathers stacked high in their hats and clothes as white as Sunday, there was a population here that was a cut above those who, like Jack, had worn their first pair of pants for almost a week straight just so the only other pair they owned would be clean for today.

He did feel proud that he had been able to at least disguise Emma's caste. Without a dress like most girls her age, Jack had pulled her hair into a tight bun and dressed her in the same tutu and tights she had worn to her company audition. No one would criticize a little girl dressing up like her heroes slated to perform on stage tonight.

"But I can't see! You didn't tell me that the royal family would be here!" She tugged on his fingers, almost pulling him into a rather burly looking man hauling vats of pickled herring, because everything in Goddamned Russia was pickled.

"Slow down, Emma. She didn't tell me, either."

"Jack!" She gasped. "Look!" Taking his eyes off of his sister for a moment, Jack followed her pointed finger to a carriage parked outside the front of the theater. Four white horses were hitched to the oak carriage, decorated with the red and gold colors of the Romanov family. The carriage itself was finely embossed with gold and polished so well Jack could have used it as a mirror. Coachmen ushered the crowd back, creating a clean line to the front door of the venue

Jack grabbed his sister around the waist and hoisted up so she was sitting on his shoulders and could see everything.

"Better?"

"Yes!" She exclaimed, squirming against his bony shoulders. "I can see the king and queen!"

"Oh? What do they look like?"

"So pretty! And here come their kids!"

With Emma on his shoulders pushing his head down, Jack could really only see below the waist of whomever was walking down the part in the crowd. There were polished shoes shinier than his had ever been, three pairs of heels hidden underneath modest skirts, and a girl about the age of Emma who bounced as she walked.

"It's Anastasia!" Emma said.

"Anna who?"

"The littlest princess. She's my age. And she has a _younger_ brother."

Jack laughed. "Oh yeah, everyone wants to be the older sibling." There was sarcasm in his tone that she didn't notice, and he was glad of it.

Once the royal family was in the theater, admission to the masses opened up again. The crowd began to thin as patrons either disappeared into the theater or left, having the patience to see royalty but not the money to join them at the ballet.

"Here, get down for a sec." Jack helped Emma off of his shoulders and fished in his pocket for the tickets. Emma was practicing her pirouettes, humming a Yankee tune as she did so.

Grinning, Jack offered her one of the tickets. Snatching it, she bounced over to the usher, who glanced at her ticket before letting her pass. Jack followed, holding out his own ticket for inspection. The usher took it, and then looked up at Jack.

"Where did you get this ticket?" The usher asked.

"From Elsa. You know, the dancer?"

"You mean Elsa Krasota?" Jack nodded and the usher clicked, rubbing his thumb over his mustache.

"A little hard to believe, son."

Jack felt his heart drop like a stone in cold water. "What do you mean?"

"You think I'm going to believe that a woman like Elsa knows a rail rat?" The usher ripped Jack's ticket in half. "This is what happens when you steal tickets."

"Jack!" Emma called for her brother but he shook his head vigorously, waving her to go inside without him. She pulled her shoulders in, hugging her balled up fists to her chest with wide eyes. Jack mouthed the words, "it's okay," and then motioned again for her to go in.

"You'll have to move now, sir." The usher said without kindness. Jack hesitated just long enough to see his sister disappear through the double doors before looking for a comfortable place against the brick wall of the theater.

* * *

Never look at the audience, it's out of character and distracting. Weselton would never let those words die. So important to his production, he had ingrained them within the contract and instructed every young dancer in the company to recite them until they were a mantra.

It made Elsa feel guilty to steal a glance at the crowd, looking for Jack. She thought it would be easy amidst the sea of garish upper class haunts, but the only one who looked slightly out of place was a young girl dressed as a ballerina. She couldn't find him and it made her anxious.

Hans' hands fell on her hips, a cue to raise herself to a graceful arabesque. Lifting her, they spun to the side, Elsa landing elegantly on her toes and pirouetting. On either side of them, dancers dressed as snowflakes fell to their knees, subject to the power of her caricature.

The lights began to dim, a spotlight focusing on Hans and herself. He lifted her lithe body up, using his hands to pull her high so that her feet were resting on his hands, Elsa balancing on the centers of his palms. As he shifted his weight to transition, Hans slipped his own foot inward, causing it to buckle so he fell to his knee.

In half a second, the entire theater hall had lost their breath. Elsa was falling uncontrolled, the only part of her Hans was still holding was her ankle, which he suddenly twisted sharply as she fell, a poignant crack stealing Elsa's breath just before she hit the stage with her face.

"No!" Hans cried. "Elsa!"

Elsa blinked rapidly, trying to focus her spinning eyes. Gripping her leg like the teeth of a beast, the pain was paralyzing, immediate, and cold. Gasping weakly, she put a hand to her upper calf, not even daring to put her hand near the offending ankle despite the shocks of pain.

Hans collected her in his arms and a hush fell with the velvet curtain.

* * *

"Jack! Jack!" Emma slammed into her brother's shoulder with two closed fists. "Get up! Come with me! Now!"

"Emma," he took her trembling hands in his own. Strands of her ruddy brown hair were falling from the bun he had meticulously slicked with soap dregs and her face was flushed hot. She had forgotten her coat inside, goosebumps running up and down her bare arms. "What happened?"

"She fell, Jack! It was awful!"

"...Elsa?"

"Yes! She's hurt! They stopped the performance."

"Come on." Jack grabbed Emma by the arm and dragged her around the side of the theater, pulling her to the small window that had become so familiar. Without hesitation, he grabbed a rock and shattered the glass.

"Jack, what are you—"

"It's okay, Emma." He took off his cloak and cleared the remaining shards from the pane. "Get in and be careful." He helped lower her from the window to the wood pallet and then slipped in after her.

Elsa wasn't in her dressing room and he hadn't expected her to be. Her room was as it was most nights he came by; immaculate and polished. All of her costumes were hanging neatly on the rack, her cosmetics were organized on the vanity, and the clock was quietly counting the minutes.

Jack pulled the mink stole off of one of Elsa's costumes and wrapped it around his sister's bare shoulders. He gave her forehead a quick kiss and said, "Wait for me here." Before she could tel him she was frightened, he was gone.

The backstage was thick with confusion and bodies. Dancers in full regale were standing in clusters, gossiping and expressing condolences real and feigned about Elsa and her accident. Shuffling between the dancers, the crew was barking orders to one another, the silent lower caste of the production that had the only real authority in a situation like this.

Then he spied someone carrying a medical case. Unkindly Jack separated people so that he could follow. The man carrying the case lead Jack to a large room with mirrors instead of walls and clothes haphazardly strewn across an odd assortment of used furniture. Scarred tables had been pushed up against the mirrors and held a mixture of gaudy stage make up and talc powders. In the center of the room Elsa was sitting on a seige lounge, a blanket over her shoulders and her foot propped up on an ottoman, covered in a white cloth.

Quick as a ghost, Jack came to her side and put his arms around her her shoulders, burying his face into the crook of her neck so she could feel his breath. Migrating to his touch, Elsa placed her shaking hands over his, squeezing them weakly

"How did you find me?" Her teeth chattered as she spoke, her skin clammy and sallow.

Jack brushed his thumb across the fragile skin of her wrist and smiled, completely unaware that Elsa's dance partner watching them from across the room.

* * *

 **A/N: Chapter two. Krasota means beauty in Russian. Songs Iistened to nonstop during the writing of this chapter (and quite frankly the last) are Julian by Say Lou Lou and Ya Soshla S Uma (All the Things She Said) and Ludi Invalidi, both by t.A.T.u. Just felt like sharing. :D Thanks for reading, please let me know your thoughts. - Kay**


	3. The Dance

**A/N: **TRIGGER WARNING** This chapter contains mentions of manipulation in abusive contexts. Some readers may be sensitive to this subject matter.**

The Clock Keeper's Husband

Chapter 3

The Dance

* * *

"Emma, wait!" Jack said as he caught his sister by the hood of her coat. "You have to take your shoes off!"

She raised a skeptical eyebrow at her brother, but obligingly kicked off her shoes in a heap that she topped off with her wet coat before scampering off to investigate Elsa's apartment.

Perfectly matched wood furniture with with a fresh white-wash decorated the sitting room, the cushions an elegant blue. Wallpaper that mimicked Venetian tile was a stylish backdrop for the portraits of dancers Jack didn't recognize but assumed Elsa did. The house smelled of lavender and old tea. In the background he could hear water running and Emma's giggles.

Shaking his head, he turned his attention to Elsa, who was leaning heavily on the wall, shrugging off her winter trappings. Beneath she was still wearing her thin ballet tights.

"Oh, here," Jack knelt, easily slipping off her left shoe. It wasn't so easy for him to look at the right foot. The ankle bones were wrapped thickly in gauze but the bruise had bled so badly that he could see the skin above her tarsals purpling. Jack looked up at her, making sure to catch her eye before gently lifting her foot and kissing the bruises.

"Jack..." She looked away, wrapping her arms around herself as if she was cold.

Even though she wasn't looking at him, his eyes were still on her, falling down her body. He tried his best not to be greedy, but kneeling beneath her like this and looking up when she was wearing ballet tights that had no secrets was distracting, to say the least. He could feel her blushing too.

"Jack!" Emma burst into the room, her arms full of oranges, her eyes of delight "She has _fruit!_ Did you know that?"

"Emma," Jack said as he turned to his sister, "Put those back. It's not polite to take things that aren't yours."

"It's okay." Elsa whispered, waving her hand weakly. "Let her have them."

Giddy, Emma scampered into the bathroom with her prize. Within seconds they could hear the sound of running water again. "Jack! It even comes out hot! And oranges float!"

Jack sighed, sweeping Elsa up into his arms as she gasped softly. Raising his voice so Emma could hear him. Jack said, "Not too much, okay?"

"Okay! I know!"

Sighing, Jack set Elsa down on the sofa whose cushions were surprisingly firm and unwelcoming. "...She has to pay for that water, you know. ...Emma?"

Elsa touched Jack's cheek, the tips of her fingers cool. "No, it's okay. The company pays for it."

"Mmm, don't tell her that or all of Moscow will be out of hot water." Smiling, Elsa lay her head down on a rabbit-fur throw pillow, nothing left to say. Leaning forward, Jack kissed her, quick and simple. "Thank you for your hospitality. I promise we won't stay long."

"What if you did?"

"Mnn?"

Elsa's eyes were closed, her hands resting on her stomach. "What if you did stay long?"

His shoulders softened. Jack touched her cheek with his fingers, letting them run down her neck, over the bare skin of her arms, and to her hands, which he folded into his own and held for as long as he could.

* * *

Blinking her eyes open, Elsa could scarcely see. The dregs of sleep blurred her vision and made her head heavy as she tried to lift it. Her heart rattled like a rabbit in her cage as the dark smell of smoke lingered in her throat, her fingers gripping the fabric of her own couch tightly.

Elsa shook her head to gain a little more clairvoyance. Even though it was the middle of the day, the sky was dark with black clouds. The lights in her apartment were hardly on, barely illuminating the room more than the dim light that came in from the windows. The room was as cold as a ghost, gray embers in the hearth smoldering their last gasp.

Elsa slid her good foot off of the couch. A piece of paper crumpled beneath her toes.

"J-Jack?" Elsa called as he reached to pick up the note. "Are you here?"

Turning over the paper, she saw words written in rough Russian that was barely legible.

" _Emma go school. Sven. Back soon. Oranges thanks."_

It made her smile a little reading the note that she assumed Jack did not write. Perhaps it was good for him to have his sister around. She at least knew how to write the letters, even if they didn't make sense.

"Whose Jack?"

At the sound of his voice, Elsa gasped, leaping to her feet but forgetting one was bad. Screaming in pain, Elsa's vision turned a searing red as she crumpled to the floor.

"Hans—" She said, her teeth grinding together. "What are you doing here?" Her shadow was longer than it had been a moment before. Shaking her head, she grabbed the edge of the couch and hefted herself back on, being careful to watch for her leg.

"Me?" Hans was standing in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen, tossing a half eaten apple in his hand. The uniform he wore was one she had never seen. It was a simple green with a patch the color of fresh blood affixed to the sleeve "I just came to check on you because I was so worried about you."

"You? You're the one who caused this!" She spat, but Hans was shaking his head in disagreement. "And how did you get in here? I never gave you a key!"

"No," Hans said. "And yes. No, I would never hurt you. And yes, yes you did give me a key, don't you remember?" It was so suddenly that everything seemed brighter; that she could see all of his bold, Nordic features. Never before had she ever considered him to be so ugly.

"No, I don't remember ever giving you a key."

"Well," Hans said as he crossed his arms. "Then you are remembering it incorrectly." And just like that, it was as though he was standing in the shadows.

"Can you please stop, Hans?"

"Stop what?"

Elsa rubbed her temple. "Turning the gas light up and down. It's giving me a headache."

"Elsa, I haven't touched the light since I've been here. I'm telling the truth."

She whipped around, staring him straight in the eye as she never had before. He took a step back, perplexed by the strength of her gaze. For a moment Elsa even imagined he looked fearful of her, but his reservations were quickly swallowed by his ego.

"I wish you'd stop lying to me, Hans."

"I didn't." He said again and Elsa felt her skin prickle. "I came by to see how you were doing, like I said. And Elsa,"

It was his hot breath on her neck that made her turn. His face was only inches from hers and she wanted to pinch his long nose. She wasn't quite sure what was stopping her, but it felt wrong to do so.

"Yes, Hans?" She scooted further down the sofa.

"It's getting dangerous out there. The Grand Duke's mansion is on fire." Her eyes widened. "Now is not the time to be making enemies, dear."

"And who, exactly," Elsa found her eyes on the red patch on his uniform. "Set the fire?"

The grin on his face was as smooth as a snake's belly. "Details, details. Oh, I almost forgot, this is for you." From his pocket, he produced a white envelope sealed with a wax insignia. Elsa's name was on the front "This is an important one, too."

Elsa took it roughly from him, ripped open the top. The writing only occupied a third of the page and as she reached Weselton's signature at the bottom of the page, her face paled.

"Don't worry," Hans said. "You still have value to me, Elsa."

When he left, Elsa noticed that the room was at its darkest.

* * *

She heard him on the street before he was even inside, saying goodbye to someone. Jack wasn't exactly the quiet type. Quiet a juxtaposition to someone who had made a career out of telling stories with her grace and flexibility. Elsa closed her eyes and leaned back on the sofa, taking a deep breath as she made impossible promises to herself.

 _I promise I won't cry. I promise I won't tell him about Hans. I promise that I won't feel like this is my fault._

She couldn't decide if she was excited or nervous to see Jack. The emotions were bleeding together like watercolors, creating something new and possibly ugly.

She heard door open, his voice like a bell.

"Hey, Elsa!"

Maybe he thought she was asleep, but as he breezed by her planted a quick kiss on her cheek, sliding into the kitchen with a paper sack. She could hear her good pots and pans banging around, settling over the open stove in the kitchen. He turned up the gas light, filling the apartment with light.

"I'm sorry I'm late, I should've had Kristoff bring you something to eat earlier."

Her eyes burned with the tears she promised not to shed. She swallowed. It hurt. "Who is Kristoff?"

"Oh," Jack was pouring something. "He's this kid who lives with Emma and I. We split the rent. A little weird sometimes with his reindeer, but a nice kid."

"Oh, I see." Elsa pulled her blanket tightly around her shoulders.

"Hey, did you get up today?" Jack said. "Why didn't you move to the bed? I changed the sheets after Emma was bouncing on it. I promise."

"No, I didn't get up." Elsa whispered as she pulled the blanket over her face. "It was too hard."

"Then who was eating this?" Jack's voice was above her now. She slid the blanket down just enough so that her eyes and nose were peeking out. Standing above her was Jack, holding the half-eaten apple Hans had taken for his snack. "It was on the counter."

She was up like a bullet. "I—I'm sorry Jack, I had a friend here and he just took it, and I tried to get him to leave but—" Elsa spoke so quickly her words ran together. "I'm sorry, so sorry—"

"Hey!" Jack tapped the space between her eyebrows with a finger. "Look at me, do I look mad?" With wide eyes, Elsa searched Jack's. His were warm, the color of brown sugar, his smile inviting and honest.

"...No, you don't."

"Should I be mad?"

Elsa bit her lip as her cheeks flushed, still staring at his upside down face. "No. I mean, I don't want you to be."

"I know." Jack walked back to the kitchen, chucking the apple into the waste bin. "I told you I'm not. I trust you."

Elsa listened to him but not the words. It was his tone that made her feel warm and safe. There were no idioms biting underneath his voice, only honesty. This was what made her truly believe that he was not mad. She had never been spoken to like that before.

Elsa pulled the blanket tighter around herself, pleasantly surprised that Jack didn't seem at all jealous.

And then she remembered it was Hans who had been here, his memory like a toxin. Worse, she was keeping the fact that Hans had been here from Jack. He knew someone had been here, but what would he do when he found out it had been Hans? Elsa swallowed, the feeling sharp in her throat. Jack returned, carrying one of her silver trays with a china bowl balanced in the center on top of a large saucer. Noodles and chopped vegetables floated in a thick broth garnished with slices of bread. It smelled like garlic, marjoram, and good things she had forgotten.

Like vomit, she spat up the words. "Hans was here."

For a moment, Jack didn't say anything. He set down the tray on the coffee table and sat on the sofa's arm rest, and smiled. "Elsa," He said as he placed his hand on her knee. "I know."

"Y-You do?"

Jack nodded. "The door was still unlocked when I came in, the apple, someone who wanted me to know was here. Who else could it have been?"

"Oh..." Elsa wouldn't look at him. She tucked her hair behind her ear and began worrying her hands, pinching the delicate knuckles. Then she felt the cold tips of Jack's hands running the length of her cheek. Slowly, she lifted her eyes to meet his. Bright, brown, and lovely, he was still smiling.

"Are you—"

"No," Jack interrupted her. "I'm not mad. Not even a little."

She blinked quickly. "Why not?"

"Because you told me I shouldn't be mad, so I'm not. Look," Jack slid down next to her on the couch, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her to him. "First, I want you to know that I have trust in every word that you say."

Elsa's eyes were big, her head tilted down so that she was looking just beneath his lips. Slipping a finger under her chin, he tilted her head up so they looking one another in the eye.

"Elsa, you have never said a kind thing about Hans. Why would I ever be jealous of what you have with him?"

"I—" Before she could say anything, he kissed her. It was shallow and sweet, his passion demanding her attention.

Breaking the kiss, he whispered. "That is what I want." Elsa shivered, her cheeks hot again.

"But that being said, I really don't want him anywhere near you. Emma told me what happened during your performance."

"I'm sorry, Jack."

He sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "Will you stop apologizing? It's not your fault he's a creep."

"I'm sorr—"

"Elsa!"

"Okay! Okay!" She sat up. "He came by to bring me this," She tossed the letter Hans had brought to Jack, who stuck his fingers into the tear and pulled out the parchment stamped with the company's logo. The page was printed in Russian, the signature at the bottom belonging to a certain Weselton.

"Wow," Jack said. "This is really serious."

"I know..." Elsa said softly.

"I can't even read Russian."

"Jack!" Elsa slapped his knee, only half playfully. "This is a serious thing!"

"Okay, okay," he grinned. "I'm, _sorry."_

Elsa glowered at him. "So what did it say?" He asked

"It's a letter of termination. From the dance company."

"What?" Jack snatched it back, scanning it as though the impact of its content would translate it. "That's ridiculous. It's not like you lost your foot, you're going to get better! You're—" When he looked at her again, her face was pale and somber, her eyes the color of rain.

"...They already recast my role, Jack. I have another week of pay and a month left here." Her eyes fell to her lap, tears escaping the corners of her eyes. "I don't know what I'm going to do, I've been with this company since I was five. They've always taken care of me."

Jack brushed a tear away with his wrist. Embarrassed, she started wiping her eyes, smearing the stale make-up that was left there. Jack licked his thumb and wiping the smudges away. Suddenly, she placed her hand over his, holding it against her cheek.

"What if I stayed with you? And Emma?"

Without thinking, Jack chewed his bottom lip. "Err—"

Quickly, Elsa looked away, not wanting him to see the shame in her eyes. "Sorry, I shouldn't have suggested it. I just thought... Well, I don't know what I thought."

"No, no," Jack grabbed her hands. "Elsa, it's not that. It's just—It's just—" He sighed, rolling the burden off his chest. "You know I'm a rail rat, but I'm poor even for that, Elsa. I mean, I can barely afford the closet that we live in."

As he spoke, her eyes slowly came back to his. She brought her hand up and rested her chin on her hand to listen. "Emma and I sleep in the same bed, Kristoff is in front of the stove. There is no heat, no electricity, no water, none of it. I mean, you saw how excited Emma was that you had oranges, right?"

"Well," She said. "Then we should bring her oranges when we go."

"Oh, Elsa," Jack ran his hands through his hair again. His face was a little pink. It made Elsa want to kiss him. "You just deserve so much more than what I can give you."

This made Elsa smile. Not from conceit, but the absurdity of the situation was humorous to her. "I guess we are just too good for each other." Their insecurities were like a lock and a key, they fit seamlessly.

Jack began to laugh at her observation. "Ha, you'd make a good better half, then."

She blinked. "...What?"

Quite suddenly, Jack got to his feet. He grabbed the coffee table and dragged it to the far wall, coming back to do the same with the end table at the arm of the sofa. Next, he moved her arm chair, pushing it across the room so that its back was to the wall.

"What are you doing?" Elsa exclaimed.

"You'll see." Jack said as he grabbed the arm of the couch she was sitting on.

"Jack—" Giving it a tug, he pulled the sofa with her on it all the way across the room and nestled it neatly against the wall. With all of the furniture lining the wall of her sitting room, the floor was free of obstruction, a large open space.

"There," He said as he clapped his hands satisfactorily together.

"What is this supposed to be?" Elsa said.

Spinning around, Jack grinned. "We're going to have a little fun." Dramatically, he dropped to one knee and extended a hand to Elsa. "May I have this dance?"

Slowly, her hands went to her mouth. "Jack, that's so sweet. But my foot still hurts, I can't."

"Is that a yes or a no?"

"It's a yes. I mean it would be if—wow!" Before she could finish, Jack was on his feet, scooping her off of the couch and into his arms, holding her like a bride. Gently, he slipped his elbow under her right knee so that he was using his arm to support her bad leg. He let the tips of her toes on her good foot brush the cold wood planks sop she could feel like she was in her element..

"I can't dance like this."

With her in his arms, he began to sway gently. "Of course you can. You're dancing with me now, aren't you?"

Elsa tilted her head and rested her arms around his neck. "You're dancing with me. Not the other way around."

"Same thing, isn't it?"

Her smile was cautious, but she let him have it. Leaning in, Jack kissed the corner of her mouth, whispering words into her skin. " _S_ _hepot kak ty mne nuzhen._ I whisper as I need you."

Her fingers touched the back of his neck, her thumbs stroking the definition of his jawbone. "How does an American know that song?"

Jack's smile broke into a full grin, humming the tune as he pressed his forehead to hers. " _P_ _odelit'sya kazhdyy rassvet,_ I share your every dawn."

His Russian was as clumsy and thick as a child's and he had very little tune, but his bravery was what made her cheeks pink and the hollow beneath her collarbone hot. " _Narisuyte svoy bezumnyy svet,_ draw your insane light."

Elsa planted her toes into the floor and lifted them to their tips, pushing her lips against Jack's. Desperate, her hands gripped his clothes to anchor herself as much as him as she nibbled his lower lip. Through the deafening passion that was rushing in her ears she could hear him gasp in pain at her aggression, but his hands told another story. Crawling under her shirt, she felt his cold fingertips find the half-moon of her hip, the supple curve of her breast.

It was when he brushed his hand over her nipple that she broke the kiss, cooing like a dove as Jack folded her body against his. Feeling herself shiver, Elsa tried to tuck her chin down but Jack was there, sweetly kissing the soft places of her neck, coaxing her to say his name in breathy wisps. Whenever he did this to her she remembered just how strong he really was; how gentle he chose to be with her.

A muffled _boom!_ Popped the silence, the gas lamps on the wall flickering three times before dying completely. Jack's lips were still on Elsa's neck, her head craned so that she could see the last of the daylight disappearing beyond the city skyline. In the waxing shadows they were alone with nothing but the cadence of the clock.

* * *

 **A/N: Another chapter. This was so much fun to write. This time period has been my paramore for some time. Thank you ALL for the wonderful feedback, it's been so nice hearing your thoughts! 'Till next time! -Kay**


	4. The American

**The Clock Keeper's Husband**

 **Chapter 4**

Jack couldn't remember all of the words. They were so important, but lately he found that there were gaping holes in what he knew. Faces were becoming blurry and he just couldn't focus them anymore. Yet, one thing that never faded was her lovely face, because whenever he saw it he didn't have to remember the words. Her kisses coaxed the words from that deep place inside of him and he could say her name again.

The chime of the clock made his heart stir and catch just beneath his breastbone. Another chime and his fingers tightened on his staff. Nothing compared to her face when she saw him again. Raising his fist, he wrapped on the door.

* * *

She was standing in front of the apartment building holding her suitcase in one hand, a bag with eight oranges in the other. The green paint was faded and peeling,the eaves of the house sagging under the memory of countless winters. It was so close to the surrounding buildings that she had to wonder if the only reason this block was still standing was because they were all leaning on each other for support.

Taking a deep breath, she followed Jack inside. Despite the bars over the windows, the lobby door no longer locked. Considering the lobby, it had no carpeting, only scarred pine floors that had treads worn through them. The elevator cage was broken and rusted, it looked as though it had been so for many years. The entire lobby smelled faintly of urine and mildewing laundry. Wrinkling her nose, she let Jack take her suitcase as she followed him upstairs to the third floor.

He took her to an apartment that was easily half the size of what her sitting room had been. On one side of the room there was cold stove with an open stomach, crumpled at its base a blanket and pillow. Hung above were three cast iron pots and a wooden spoon. Just beneath the stove a shelf had been jimmied to the wall and held three cans with letters she didn't recognize and a small collection of spice jars. A double bed whose gray sheets had once been white occupied the far corner.

But perhaps the most astonishing to Elsa was the amount of books that Jack owned. So many, in fact, that he had begun to fashion them into furniture. As though the three waist high piles beside his bed were not enough, the desk in the corner had legs made of books as did the coffee table. Well, the latter was little more than a flat of plywood balanced haphazardly on hardbacks, but the empty bulb vase placed for decoration made it feel like they were trying to make this place homely.

Jack set her suitcase by the bed and forced a smile. "Well, I guess I should say welcome home."

Elsa wrapped her arms around herself, warm tears collecting behind her eyes. She had never been with so little before. She wanted more than anything to say that because she had Jack she was rich in her heart, but to be honest the thought of a Russian winter without central heat crippled her confidence.

He must have seen something in her face because he said, "I know it's not what you're used to, but I'm happy you're here."

Sniffing, she wiped her cheeks. "Me too, Jack."

He ran his fingers through his auburn hair. "Hey, how about this? Go sit and I'll make you some tea. It's the good kind that comes in a tin, yeah?"

"Okay..." As Jack went about lighting the fire in the wood stove, Elsa moved his books aside so she could have a seat on the bed. The words were all in English, but the one that was open had triangles with equations and formulas she did not understand in the annotations.

"You're... learning math?" She asked.

"Uh, yeah." Jack says, a little flustered as he came over to swipe up the remaining paraphernalia. "I am. I'd like to get into a university one day."

She raised an eyebrow. "You graduated high school?"

He laughs. "Of course. Look," Jack gestures to the ring on his right hand, a simple band with a word in English etched intp the metal. "It's my class ring. Everyone who graduates in America gets one, it's a little silly buy hey, I know how to cross my T's and dot my I's."

Elsa blushed and looked away.

"Does that embarrass you?" Jack asked lamely.

Elsa shook her head no. "I'm just a little surprised, that's all."

He raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms.

"No! No!" Elsa said quickly, worrying her braid. "I didn't mean it like that, Jack. It's just that," she sighed. "I... I didn't learn much more than how to read and write and basic arithmetic. Weselton wanted us to focus on our disciplines, that's all. I mean, really the only time I ever saw books after my basic education was when I was learning to do the splits."

"Why would you need books for that?"

"Well, we would balance between two chairs, one foot on each." Elsa looked out the window. A light snow had begun to fall, collecting in the potholes of the street. Jack had managed to light the fire and had put the teapot on the stove. "Weselton would place books on our feet to hold the stretch."

Jack sucked in air through his teeth. "That sounds incredibly painful."

Elsa shrugged. "It was, but just like anything else it takes discipline and courage. I'm sure it took nothing less to comie to Russia."

"Ha," Jack gave a sarcastic laugh. "Yeah, I guess."

"What do you mean?" She asked as Jack handed her a mug of tea. She turned it so the chipped side wasn't facing her.

"Well," He said as he sat down on the bed next to her. "I'm from New York City, and—"

"New York!" Elsa bounced, sloshing a spot of tea onto the comforter. "Sorry, but wow! New York! I've always wanted to go there!"

"Eh, it's alright. I mean, look," he held his hands out as though there was really something there to show her besides the deep creases in his palms. "New York is like the entire world in one city."

She tilted her head and smiled. "That sounds amazing."

"I know, but the bad part is that just like the real world, everyone has friends and everyone has enemies. I'm Irish, so that means—"

"Wait, wait," Elsa waved her hands. "I thought you were American?"

He sighed. "Well, I am, but my parents were from Dublin so Emma and I fall into the Irish crowd by default. Anyway, no one really likes the Irish, we're kind of like the left overs, just above the people who don't speak English at all."

He saw a flash of self-consciousness in her eyes. Jack put a hand on her knee. "No, don't take it like that, it's just the truth. That's how New York is. So, after my parents died, I wanted something better for Emma. I took her back to Ireland."

Elsa's mouth fell open in shock. "What? Jack, America is supposed to be better than Europe! It's the land of dreams, right?"

"Ah," he hooked his hands together behind his head and fell back on the bed. "They say that. I know they do. I thought that maybe... people would accept us if I could find our relatives. But it wasn't like that. We weren't from the north or the south, we didn't even sound Irish, so we were still outsiders. So I took her away from that and we started wandering. London, Paris, Berlin, we just kept looking for something better."

"And why did you choose Moscow?" Elsa asked. "Of all of the places in Europe, why here?"

Jack laughed again. "It's a bit ironic, really. We finally came across a country that wouldn't let us leave."

"What?"

"Well," Jack sat up on his elbows. "We didn't exactly come here legally. Don't look at me like that, we don't have the money. But Russia gots pretty strict with illegal immigrants once things started... changing. I thought it was better to lay low than to cause trouble and risk losing Emma."

"Oh Jack," she touched his shoulder. "I'm so sorry."

He smiled and it reminded her of sunshine. She hadn't expected him to smile. "Whenever I get sad about being stuck in Russia I remember the good things." He touched her hand and met her eyes. She felt like she was suddenly on fire. "Like meeting you." Elsa closed her eyes, feeling Jack's nose brush against her own.

Just then, the door opened and blonde kid with wide shoulders and a nose pink from the cold stepped in and shook the snow off his boots. He didn't seem to notice Elsa as he unraveled the wool scarf from his neck until Jack coughed loudly.

"Kristoff," He said. "Come meet Elsa, our new roomie."

"Elsa?" His eyes were wide as he looked at her petite form on the edge of the bed. "That dancer you've been seeing?" Jack nodded. Still wearing a parka, Kristoff lumbered over to them and extended a hand blackened by soot for her to shake.

"I'm so happy to finally meet you."

* * *

A month and a half had passed since the fateful night at the theater and Elsa had taken to a job at a bakery folding yeast into bread dough and crimping pie crusts until her knuckles popped. At least, that was before the sun rose. During the day, the baker had her in the front of shop since her face was known by half of Moscow. Most people would stare at her as they handed over their money, but if she collected a penny for every time someone asked her if she was really Elsa Krasota, the famous ballerina, she wouldn't even have to work at the bakery anymore.

The hardest thing about her work was not dragging the fifty pound bags of flour or the baker snapping his fingers at her, telling her to move quicker. It wasn't even the customers who tried to touch her or shouted at her for the steep prices of _tula_ bread. What really moved her to tears was the fact that after rising before Jack had even stirred and working late until her hands were as stiff and sore as her back they still had to decide whether to buy eggs or milk because there was never enough money for both.

Looking back at the meal Jack had prepared for her in her apartment, she wondered how he had come across fresh vegetables and meat, deciding never to ask him because she assumed it wasn't honestly. Instead, she simply counted herself lucky that she had sampled his keen cooking abilities before the reality of common Russian life brutally beat her down.

What she didn't know was that everything was about to change as quickly as the winds over Siberia. Just like any other Thursday, Elsa had come in to the bakery before the sun was even a thought. Sergei, the grumpy old baker was already there, stoking the fires of the great oven. His fat wife was asleep at his home with their six children, the main reason as to why Elsa was even hired.

Just like any other day, she kneaded bread, braided pie crusts, and twisted ribbons of sweet _khvorost_ before popping them into the oven. In fact, nothing changed until the noon sun was high and smartly dressed business men began stopping in for meat dumplings with strong tea.

One of them was a jubilant shopkeeper named North, who always paid Elsa a compliment with his fare. Boasting a bright red coat and a long beard the color of snow, she had seen young children call him Father Christmas on more than one occasion. Although he was the size of a house and spoke like a Siberian, he was always sweet to Elsa and occasionally brought her small toys from his shop down the street.

But today North was far from the image of Father Christmas. Instead, his bushy eyebrows were furrowed and he was frowning.

"Elsa," he jabbed a thick thumb in the direction of the bakery window. Outside, a group of men was beginning to build. "Do you know who they are?"

Peering around the tower that was North, she saw that the men had large winter coats lined with white mink fur and trooper hats. They looked like traders, and successful ones at that.

"So?" She said. "What's wrong with them?"

She was still trying to evaluate the potential threat of these men when one of them turned and looked her straight in the eye. The blood in her veins turned to ice as his bloodshot eyes held hers. He grinned and waved to her. Elsa returned the gestured awkwardly. Without hesitation, the man lifted his other hand from beneath his coat, brandishing a pistol. Using the butt of the weapon, he smashed the glass.

Instinct drove Elsa to her knees behind the counter. Like a scared animal, she chose to wedge herself between the shelves of day-old bread, trying to look small. She could hear gruff laughter and the sound of heavy boots crunching glass shards.

"Sergei," One man yelled as though they were old pals. Elsa had not the slightest idea what these men might want with the baker but the thought Sergei's rough appearance made her believe they ran with different crowds. "Where are you?"

Nothing. In the slums there were known to be mobs who dealt in illegal goods you couldn't get when everything was rationed, but Sergei didn't strike her as the sort of man to play his hand at these foolish games. He had a wife, children and a business that dealt directly with food. So many would give their left hand to be able to smell wheat germ everyday.

Not surprisingly, Sergei didn't answer but there was a shuffling in the back room. The men vaulted over the counter, weapons that were once concealed under their parkas were now brandished and ready. Four marched by her but the last, the one who had seen her before, caught sight of her hiding place. She swallowed hard and shut her eyes.

His thick hands were on her, closing around her elbow and drawing her out. His breath smelled of peppermint and now that she was in his arms, his coat felt as expensive as it looked.

"Hey!" North yelled above the din. "Unhand her, she has nothing to do with this!"

"Oh?" The man holding Elsa said. "We're here for Bolshevik blood. Does she not work for Sergei?" She heard the cock of a gun and could smell gunpowder. Elsa shivered, the cold coming through the broken window chilling her just as much as her fright.

"That's Elsa Krasota!" North bellowed. "A Bolshevik? You'd be hard pressed to support that claim, my friend."

"Krasota!" The man immediately let go of Elsa's arm. "My apologies! I didn't think a lady of such class would be in these parts, much less in the shop of a traitor to the crown."

"I—I—" Elsa didn't know what to say. It would seem this man was unaware of just how far she had fallen; of how grateful she was for stale bread and weak tea. What would he say if he knew that she scrubbed her skin with lye soap instead of those lavender washes scented in France? Would he still think her a lady if he knew that she had happily preened and gutted a whole chicken with Jack just last night? There was still dried blood from the thing under her nails.

"Abram!" One of the men called. "We got him!" Trapped between the man who had just spoken and his comrade was Elsa's boss, Sergei. His face already quite rotund was purpling in places where he had been punched. Trembling a like a child, his teeth rattled together like an instrument. When he saw Elsa standing with the men, his eyes fell to the floor and he began to whimper.

The man who had grabbed Elsa, apparently Abram, rounded on Sergei with a grin. "Feeding Bolsheviks, eh Sergei? It would be have been wise to let them starve like the dogs."

"I'm—I'm not a t—t—traitor—" Sergei sputtered.

"Keh," Abra, pressed the nozzle of the gun against Sergei's ear.

North wrapped an arm around Elsa's shoulder. "Come," he whispered so close to her ear that the coarse hairs of his beard tickled her. "You don't want to see this."

Elsa felt as though she was in a daze as North lead her out of the bakery. They had only reached the end of the block when she heard the first gunshot.

* * *

 **A/N: Here's chapter 4! :)**


	5. Family

**The Clock Keeper's Husband**

 **Chapter 5: Family**

Elsa would never forget the first time she saw Jack cry. It was the day he decided Emma would no longer attend school. Since Elsa's job at the bakery was nothing but a bad memory, they had to face the difficult of decision of whether to short the grocer or the landlord. Elsa had been knocking on the doors of sweatshops but she was one of hundreds of other girls who needed work and many had been threading needles and hefting looms all their lives. Graceful and dainty, Elsa was no match for these women. And quite frankly, neither was Emma.

So, after the sun had set, the girls would light a fire in the stove and lay out reams of old newspapers to fold them into flowers. The next day, they would stand on the streets corners and hawk them to anyone who looked as though they had a coin to spare. Elsa knew the weight of this decision was eating Jack alive, but she couldn't say that she didn't enjoy the company Emma brought. She had to swallow that guilt alone because he wouldn't understand.

* * *

There was absolutely nothing special about that particular Tuesday. He was knee deep in coal rocks, using a spade to heft them into the backs of wagons that the old mares (and Sven, in the case of Kristoff) would take to the tracks for the other rail rats to stock the engines with. Warm and sweaty, from the work, he paused a moment to wipe his brow with the back of his dirty sleeve. It was then that he heard shouting followed by cheers.

Looking across the yard, he saw that a majority of the workers, especially the young blood, were gathered around the foreman's stand. However, the foreman was nowhere to be seen. Instead, there was a man Jack knew only by the name of Jim.

Well, man was a generous word for the lad. Somewhere in the pubescent murk of his adolescenct years, he was an entire head shorter than most of the men around the stand but even from here, Jack could see his raw confidence drawing the spectators. Jack glanced over his shoulder, making sure the foreman wasn't around before taking Sven's reigns and walking closer to the crowd. Sven whickered and nudged Jack's elbow, gesturing to Kristoff who was floating around on the other end of the crowd, eyes locked on the stage. Jack patted the reindeer's nose and held him tightly. The air here was sour with the smell of sweat and passion.

"…Every little difference may become a big one if it is insisted on!" As he said this, Jim pumped his fist into the air. The crowd followed with a whoop. Now that he was closer, Jack could see the red stitching on Jim's coat as well as the sterling hammer and sickle necklace he wore. Jack bit his lip, suddenly realizing that he was in the middle of a Bolshevik gathering and at his work no less.

"It shouldn't frighten you," Jim continued. "That at the end of this only true Marxists will remain. The only way to accomplish our unification is to sweep our nation!"

A defiant gunshot cracked the still air. Jack blinked and Jim was on his knees, his fingers plugging the hole in his chest. Dots of red landed on the cold wood as Jim sputtered against the pain. The entire crowd began shifting against itself like a pack of startled rats, ready to gnaw the foot off of friend or foe.

"Shit," Jack mumbled. The worst part of this was that his proximity would lump him with these revolutionaries even though he had really just been minding his own business.

"Traitors!" The foreman bellowed. He was sitting astride a mare the color of midnight, flanked by a platoon of royal guards with their muskets pointed directly at the audience.

"Treason to the crown is punishable by death!" He continued. "As such—" Another gunshot rang out and the foreman dropped from his horse. All eyes turned to the origin of the bullet.

Jim was on his knees, his breath as ragged as anger. Holding the gun in his bloody fingers, his eyes were streaked with fury and he held his tongue between his teeth at the effort. Another gunshot and Jim fell on his face, dead.

Jack didn't have time to catch his breath before the soldiers had collided with the other workers. There was sea of combat, bullets firing into the hearts of frightened workers and soldiers whose heads were smashed in with shovels and pikes. The first thing in Jack thought of was his girls and how they needed him to survive this. The second was Kristoff and how the foolish adolescent had mixed with this crowd of revolutionaries.

Beside him, Sven bellowed, pawing the ground with a cloven hoof. Jack reached down and unclasped the harness so that the reindeer was free of the coal cart. Swinging his leg over the animal, Jack urged him antlers first into the crowd. He didn't have to ask him to find Kristoff, the reindeer was on a mission.

People were pretty quick to move out of Sven's way, but Jack kept his face closer to the reindeer's musky shoulders to keep out of the way of bullets. But it wasn't enough. Through the chaos, another shot rang out and suddenly Sven was bucking so hard Jack almost slipped off. He grit his teeth and grabbed a chunk of Sven's fur in each hand to hold on. When Jack looked up, he saw that one of the branches of Sven's antlers had been shorn off by the bullet and lay on the ground, crushed into dust under winter boots.

They had to get out before things escalated.. "Kristoff!" Jack screamed. "Kristoff!" He didn't necessarily expect Kristoff to respond, but he had no other ideas. Fortunately, Sven did. Nostrils flaring, he surged through the crowd with renewed strength, this time knocking people out of the way instead of waiting for them to move.

Breaking through a tussle of two Bolsheviks and a White Guard, Jack and Sven emerged on the other side to see Kristoff parring a White Guard's sword with the handle of a shovel. Sven bellowed loudly at the sight of his keeper and Kristoff looked up. The White Guard knocked the shovel from his hand and pulled a gun from its hip holster.

"No!" Jack kicked Sven hard and the reindeer charged, but not before the guard fired a shot. Sven's antlers collided with the soldier's rib cage with a sickening crack and he fell in a heap among the scuffle. Leaving him, Jack turned back to Kristoff who was on the ground, eyes shut tight as he ground his teeth together. His hands were clasped just above his left hip but Jack could see red seeping through the wool of his mittens.

Leaping from Sven, Jack grabbed Kristoff under his arm pits and hefted onto Sven's back. Climbing on himself, he kicked the reindeer into action and Sven was off like a bullet, galloping out of the rail yard and back towards Moscow.

* * *

"Jack?" Emma's voice was shrill as she stared at Kristoff who was little more than a shivering heap on the bed. His arms were crossed over his abdomen and everything was sticky with blood. "Is he—"

It was Elsa who placed her hands firmly on Emma's shoulders and squeezed, rooting them both to the spot. Jack's face was like stone as he rolled Kristoff onto his back and pried his arms away from the wound. The odor of new blood mingling with old was sickening and tasted like copper. Distantly Elsa heard him say something about water and rags. Then Emma was tugging her wrists.

"Go!" Jack said. "Right now!"

"Aren't you coming?" Emma was looking at the girl, eyes as warm and brown as a mother cat's. "To get the water?"

She glanced back at Jack, who was holding Kristoff's arms down as he stared at the seeping hole just above his hip. Kristoff was as tense as a board under Jack, sucking in gulps of air through closed teeth. If she went with Emma, Jack would be fielding this on his own. If she went to get the water, it would be Emma who would witness whatever Jack was about to do to Kristoff.

Elsa's stomach churned and she tasted bile in her mouth. Grabbing the bucket, she pushed it into Emma's hands. "You go. Jack needs me."

"But—"

"Go." There was no arguing with her tone. Emma shrugged on her coat and zipped out the door to get water from the pump.

Elsa sat beside Jack and Kristoff on the bed. "How can I help?"

Jack caught her eye. His were darker than she had ever seen them, his lips thin and white. It took him a moment to see her even though he was looking at her, how she sat calmly with her hands folded in her lap as she tried not to look at the blood running from Kristoff's gunshot wound. This was hard for her, but it wasn't easy for him either. He admired her willingness to help despite her reservations.

"I want you to hold him." Jack said finally.

"What? But I'm not strong enough to—"

"It'll be fine. He's lost a lot of blood."

Her gasp was soft, like the beat of a dove's wings. She was looking at him for confidence and gave her all that he could in a chipper smile that was anything but real. "You've got this, Elsa." Even if his happiness was not genuine, the determination in Jack's eyes was. She knew this would happen with or without her, but it would be easier if Jack had her help.

Letting go of her braid, Elsa clasped Kristoff's wrists, pinning them to the bed with shaking wrists. Jack released his hold on Kristoff's arms and began peeling the folds of his coat and shirt away. Moaning, the teen began shifting under the fire of Jack's fingers.

"Shh, shh," Elsa found it wasn't so hard to tighten her grip and keep him still. Jack was right, he was pretty weak now that he had lost all of that blood. She looked up to see if Jack was almost finished but that was a grave mistake.

His two fore fingers were buried in the bullet hole. Surrounding the wound were crusts of blood and fresh streaks squirted every time Jack wiggled his fingers in search of the bullet.

"Oh God," Her head suddenly felt as thick and heavy as a rock. She bent over Kristoff's upper half, her cheek brushing the blonde stubble of his chin. At least her body weight would hold him down so Jack could finish.

Suddenly, Kristoff began screaming. Elsa tightened her body, pushing into him with everything she had and desperately trying to avoid looking at whatever Jack was doing. He tried to thrash with a sudden burst of energy but Elsa pinned his arms to his sides, holding him as steady as she could. Suddenly, he went limp agaion, taking a deep breath before whimpering softly. Elsa took a moment to collect her breath before she looked to Jack.

His hands were covered in wet blood up to the wrists. One hand held the tatters of Kristoff's shirt to the wound while the other observed a gray object. The sour taste returned to Elsa's mouth.

"Jack?" Everyone but Kristoff looked up. Emma was standing there in a parka with a full bucket of water. Snow was dripping off of her shoes and melting into puddles on the floor. When she saw the blood on her brother's hands her brows furrowed and her lower lip began to quiver.

"Bring it over here," Jack instructed. Emma did as she was told, setting it at Jack's feet and backing up slowly. Wordlessly, Jack dipped his hands into the water, staining the surface with ribbons of Kristoff's thick blood. From the kitchen Elsa brought him a clean cloth which he used to clean the wound before filling it with gauze to stop the bleeding.

Elsa fed Kristoff small sips of cough syrup to help him sleep. Jack was a useless pile beside the bed post and Emma was standing in the corner, taking her winter clothes off slowly so no one would ask her to do anything else.

With everyone else in a state of petrification, Elsa went to the kitchen to chop beets for a simple soup that no one, including herself, felt like eating. The grief in their throats was just too difficult to swallow much less chase with real food. Still, Emma was polite enough to hold the warm bowl in her hand and push the vegetables around. Jack said he would do the same but didn't. When Elsa handed Jack his own bowl she noted that it was the second time she had ever seen him cry.

* * *

Emma was huddled in front of the dying embers of the stove in the musty sheets Kristoff had once used. Still in the bed, Kristoff was lying on his right side to keep pressure off the offending hip. His breathing was unsteady and sallow, his face only a few shades lighter than the snow on the window panes. Every two hours or so he would stir, asking for water or another swig of cough syrup which, oddly, seemed to help with the pain as well as his sleep.

She looked around the apartment again. The dishes had been scrubbed, the floor swept, Emma's snow puddles mopped up with rags. She felt strong enough to go now.

From the coat rack Elsa took a wool shawl and draped it over her shoulders. She took Kristoff's boots because hers were not water proof and slipped them over her thick socks. Elsa glanced over her shoulder once more at the sleeping children because truly that's what they both were. Gently she closed the door.

Kristoff's boots were heavy and too big at the toes so she walked much like the clowns she had seen in the circus. She made more noise than she intended as she crept down the old wood stairs and felt ashamed as most everyone was asleep at this hour unless you had to clean the wounds of a gunshot victim every two hours.

When Elsa reached the foyer she pushed through the front door and there he was, standing like a shadow in the middle of the street. Elsa walked to him and threw one end of her shawl over his shoulders, twisting her body against his as she did so. "Hi."

He sighed, resting his hand easily on her supple hip. His eyes were resting on the crescent moon that hung just above the snow-laden roof of the next apartment building. Jack wished grasping the moon was as simple as climbing to the roof and reaching up with his long fingers. But it wasn't. "Hi Elsa."

"What are you doing out here all alone?" She asked.

"Just thinking."

"About what?"

Jack's sigh was heavy and disappeared into the night as a puff of steam. He wrapped his other arm around her so that they were face to face. "Does it matter?"

"Mmm, no, but you don't usually walk out here in the cold all alone."

"Eh," he scratched the back of his head. "Just thinking about the way I used to think things would be when I was Emma's age. How different they are from real life."

She felt niggling insecurities in her chest. Surely, this didn't mean him ever coming to Russia and pounding rail road stakes. This would also mean that she had never been part of his plan...

"I thought I would graduate from a university. Get a real job and never see a damned pick axe in my life. I never thought that I would fight for Emma to eat, I never even thought I would have to be the one to raise—" He suddenly stopped himself, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes as hard as he could. "It just didn't happen. After they died, I mean, I can't take care of myself, and Emma, oh, Emma. She has to see these things, these horrible, horrible things I can't save her from, and—"

"Jack," Elsa took his hands in hers and pressed her thumbnails into the center of his palms, his need of her suddenly erasing her own insecurities. "Look at me." He lifted his eyes. All of the strength she had ever seen had been whisked away. "You have done so much for her. I won't let you shame yourself like this."

He sighed, dropping his eyes again. "I just want to change things."

"Then what's stopping you?" Elsa asked. "Jack, you changed my entire life by telling me to listen, so now, I will tell you the same." She put her hand over his heart and splayed her fingers. "Listen to your desire. What is it that you want?"

For a moment his eyes flickered across the wet cobblestones. The falling snow was beginning to stick, making the street look as though it was covered in hundred of nonpareil candies. "Well," He put his hand over hers, suddenly grinning. "You, for starters."

"Jack," her cheeks were pink at his words. "For Emma. For you."

"Mmm," Slowly, he closed his eyes as though the thought was too precious. "I want to take her away from here so she can be safe. I want her to go to school. I want her to have a future, Elsa." He opened his eyes again. Now he was smiling. "And I want all of those things for you too."

His words made the hollow under collarbone burn. Weselton used to say that educating a woman was like filling a shoe with water; the liquid would run out and be wasted or held in and wreck the shoe and it wasn't clear which was worse. To hear Jack say that he wanted her to be educated, to be safe, to have a future—these were things she had never been privy to even dream of.

"Will you be part of that future?" She asked tentatively.

Jack clicked his tongue, leaned in and kissed her like a whisper. For a moment they were still, holding these things between them like a delicious secret. Then he broke away and buried his lips into her hair,

"Absolutely. Now tell me," Jack said as he cupped her face with his hands. "What did you want when you were young?"

"Are you asking because you want to make it come true?"

"If I can."

Elsa exhaled, still a little dizzy from that kiss. "Alright I… I always thought I would have a baby. Be a mother."

"Really?" Jack pulled away a little. For a split second she felt as though she had done something wrong, but then he said, "That's really sweet, Elsa. You've had so much success and you still want family."

"Y-You think I'm successful?"

"Of course!" Jack swept his hand out to indicate breadth. "How many people can say they have danced in front of all of Russia?"

"Well, I guess not that many. But it didn't start that way."

Jack frowned. "What do you mean?"

"It's true I trained in the premier academy for ballet and I have lived a comfortable life. But you need to understand that it didn't begin that way."

"Were your parents poor?" He asked.

"No, no," she said. "Quite the opposite really. Well, sort of. You see, my father was Michael Romanov."

" _What?"_ Jack's mouth hung open like a cow. "The Tsar's brother is your _father_? Elsa, you're a duchess?"

Elsa held up her hands. "No, no, I'm not a duchess. You see, my father is a Romanov, but my mother was nothing, so neither am I. I don't even carry his name, as you know."

"Oh." Jack said. "Right. Uhm, why not?"

"Because a bastard child would sully the name of the Romanov family. My father cared enough about me and my mother to ensure I had means to live under Weselton's thumb, but I can't say he was actually present in my life. I've seen him more in theater boxes at performances than in real life, mostly because it would be a disaster for him to be seen with me."

Jack touched her face. "If he knew what he had given up he would never be whole." Then he grinned. "But if Emma hears this she is going to flip. She loves Anastashia. You know the princess that's the same age as her?"

Elsa smiled softly. "That's charming. But I've never met her. I really never had a family, Jack."

"What about your mother?" he asked.

"It was her death that almost made my father responsible for me. But like I said, he dealt with me quick enough."

Jack was silent. He never would have imagined with her overwhelming amount of talent, beauty, and wealth that she would be lacking something as essential and basic as family. Here he was blubbering about the heavy responsibility of it all when she didn't even know her own siblings. Jack felt incredibly stupid and insensitive. But then, his eyes were alight and once again, he grinned. Excited as a child, he grasped Elsa's hands in his. He had an idea, probably the best one he had ever had.

"I want you to close your eyes." He said. Elsa eyed him skeptically but did as she was told. She felt Jack take her left hand and find the ring finger and slip something over it. Her heart felt as though it had stopped beating. "Open them now."

Elsa opened her eyes to see Jack's class ring on her bridal finger. The metal was still warm from his skin. With her mouth hanging open, she looked at him as though he had taken her words.

When she didn't say anything, Jack took heri n his arms. "I want you to have family." He kissed her cheek, whispering the next thing he said into her lush hair. "And I want to make that family with you, Elsa."

Elsa wrapped arms around his shoulders and kissed him with such force they fell back into the fresh snow. Laughing, they rolled away from each other and onto their backs. From this vantage they could see the moon obscured by the dainty snowflakes that drifted quietly from the sky and Elsa didn't think she needed to reach the moon to be happy. She looked at Jack and noticed that this was the third time she had ever seen him cry. At least he was smiling through his tears.

* * *

 **A/N:** Chapter five already? Yikes, this was never meant to be this long but I have had such incredible fun writing this story I can't staaaahp. I really appreciate all of those who have read/reviewed. You guys rock. :D


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